


anno seorsum

by WinterXAssassin



Series: Galactic Scraps [5]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Feels, Feels, Friendship, Fuck Canon I Do What I Want, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mystery, Nostalgia, Platonic Female/Female Relationships, Post-Canon, Reminiscing, Reunions, Sister-Sister Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26102986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterXAssassin/pseuds/WinterXAssassin
Summary: anno seorsum. years apart.twenty-five years is a long,longtime for siblings to be separated.things are so very different, when their paths finally cross.but one thing remains the same: they have been, and always will be, family.
Relationships: Artemis-B312 & Jeanette-B315
Series: Galactic Scraps [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713652
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	anno seorsum

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: [crawls out of the woodwork to post an OC-centric oneshot before squirming back in]
> 
> [Once again, Jeanette-B315 belongs to Panth; I'm merely borrowing her for my story](https://pantheris.tumblr.com)   
> 

She’s at the spaceport, when it happens.

A prickling beneath her skin, as a scarred, battle-worn D77-TC Pelican dropship touches down near the skiff that has belonged to her and her family for so many years. The first oddity Jeanette notices, is that the craft is a matte grey, rather than that typical drab olive green that’s standard to the UNSC. The second, is that the craft seems bulkier, shaped slightly differently, with some kind of weapons package attached to the wings that doesn’t seem standard.

The ramp touches down with a muffled _thump_ , and what’s definitely a Spartan, clad head to toe in armour, strides out. The armour’s just as battle-scarred as the dropship, if not moreso; there’s a seam in the chestplate, hidden behind an array of pouches, that suggests extensive damage. The paint is peeling and covered in plasma scoring and dents, the design clearly ancient, more outdated than that Generation 2 stuff the newest line of Spartans had worn years ago.

Another Spartan joins the first, also wearing the same type of worn, outdated armour, and from here, Jeanette can barely make out half of a conversation that ensues.

“—tay with the dropship, in case I need a hot extraction.” The voice is feminine, husky, and a nagging familiarity tugs at Jeanette’s chest. The second Spartan nods, leans against the frame of the dropship; the first begins to walk through the spaceport.

As the woman moves past Jeanette, she cannot help but take note of the fluid, catlike grace to her gait. It’s rhythmic and predatory, and it’s... also familiar.

Then she notices the next oddities: the sniper rifle, again of outdated design, latched to the backplate of the woman’s armour. Stranger still, the hilt of a deactivated Energy Sword, tossed from hand to hand as the Spartan strides out of the space port and out of sight.

_Who are you_ , Jeanette wonders, curiosity piqued and suspicions aroused, _who are you, and why are you here on Venezia?_

* * *

Artemis knows she’s being watched.

She can feel it, a prickling sensation that creeps along the back of her neck. A feeling that won’t go away, even as she weaves through the market, changing her course every so often in the hopes of throwing her pursuer off her trail. But it’s to no avail. Whoever they are, they’re _good_ — almost uncannily so. _Too good_ to be a baseline human. They’re either a Spartan, or a Sangheili, and at this point in time, she doesn’t know which is worse.

They’re an expert tracker... chasing down a seasoned hunter. The terms are synonymous. Artemis has a challenge and a dilemma on her hands.

She ducks into a nearby alley, shakes her wrist. A knife slides free of its sheath upon her right vambrace; she takes precaution to ensure the blade doesn’t flash in the low light of twilight as it finds its new home in her hand. Then, she melts into the shadows, shifts ready to spring, and waits. Her armour may not blend very well with her current environment, but it doesn’t matter. She just needs a momentary edge over her as yet unseen venator — with that edge, she will be more lethal than she already is.

After all, stealth is her element. If she catches her enemy by surprise, all the better for her. And all the worse for her enemy.

“Why are you here on Venezia, Spartan?” A woman’s voice rings out, and while it tugs at a distant memory, Artemis isn’t sure she recognizes the figure slinking into the alley. She watches them, takes note of the way they move with a predatory, feline grace. Observes their powerful, yet lithe frame. Senses their _fearlessness_ as they approach her.

“Is there a law prohibiting the presence of a Spartan upon the planet’s surface?” Artemis counters coolly, tilting her head to one side. She shifts her weight, muscles bunching and coiling. The other woman doesn’t look like she’s here to fight, but looks _can_ be deceiving. The Spartan knows this all too well.

She can just make out the frown that adorns the other woman’s features, before the stranger gives voice to a hesitant reply. “No, there is not. But it is still suspicious, regardless. Venezia is not under the UEG’s jurisdiction, and hasn’t been for many years. I do not want to have to ask again, why you are here, but I would like to know.”

“Curious, or worried for your safety?” Artemis questions, voice dry, a derisive snort accompanying her words. “I’d say both, judging from the looks of things. You wouldn’t have tailed me for so long if you were _only_ curious. And if you were worried for your safety, you’d already have a weapon ready to bear on me.”

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Good eye.” she notes dismissively. Then her eyes narrow. “Who are you?” There’s an edge to her voice now, a quiet warning.

“I’m going to need to know who’s asking, because now you’re beginning to sound suspicious yourself.” Artemis waggles the knife in her hand, a gesture she’s sure won’t go unnoticed.

The woman huffs, and rolls her eyes. “My name is Jeanette, and that is all you will ever need to know. I am not associated with ONI, nor the UNSC. I am simply... good at many things.”

_Jeanette_.

Her blood turns to ice in her veins. She _knows_ this name, _knows_ this face. Remembers the attitude, remembers a grin that was more teeth than smile, remembers a cadet as small as she was, unflinching at her side during training... Her thoughts stutter, and eventually grind to a halt. A nameless ache pulses beneath her breastbone, and her next intake of breath is a sharp one.

“ _Soeur loup_?” The words are heavy, clumsy on her tongue, and she has to force them past the lump in her throat. _Sister wolf_.

There’s a pause that hangs between them, roiling with tension.

And then, and then, Jeanette’s eyes, an achingly familiar icy blue, light up with recognition. She takes a step closer, some of the previous hostility draining out of her posture. “ _Farkas nővére_.... It is _you_.” _Wolf sister_.

“Yeah,” Artemis echoes, sliding her knife back into its home on her gauntlet. “Yeah, it’s me. We should...” She pauses, scanning the sky above, and the street behind. “We should talk. In my Pelican will do; she’s got a full electronics blackout package. Just in case.”

The smile Jeanette gives her is sad, does not meet her eyes, and is all teeth. “Always wise to be cautious, especially here.” She inclines her head to the opening of the alley, and adds, “Come. No sense in lingering here any longer than we have to.”

As she pivots neatly on her heel and strides out of the alley, Artemis follows into step behind her, and soon, is walking beside her. This feels familiar, even if it’s been years since they’ve seen one another, and in that time, they’ve grown so much. She remembers walking side by side like this back on Onyx, so long ago. Remembers the pride coursing through her, the growing challenge, ready to face a new day of training. Remembers the feeling of _with my family beside me, I can do anything_. The thought fills her with warmth.

How she’s missed her older sister. The one she thought had vanished years ago. The one she’d wondered whether or not she was _dead_ , or just... lost in the wind, forever. The one that, in the back of her mind, she’s always hoped to see again.

It’s been _so long_. Too damn long, in her opinion.

* * *

Jeanette steps up into the dropship — _Fény Végén_ , her sister had said, _it means light at the end, in my native tongue_ — and immediately feels some kind of _loss_ as the blackout package kicks in. She knows it’s just because she’s not used to the inaudible background hum that electronics always produce while they’re active, but it’s jarring nonetheless. She settles herself on one of the jump seats, perched on the edge, and gives a nod to the other Spartan — Jun, her sister told her his name was — as he passes by.

An uncomfortable feeling settles into her gut. It’s not something she can put her finger on — it’s just _there_ , and she has to wonder if it’s something to do with the Pelican. There’s a stirring on the fringes of her memories, a sensation of _something long forgotten_ , but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. Slipping from her grasp like fine grains of sand.

“So....” Artemis begins, settling across from her and resting her elbows on her knees. “Where do I even start? I mean it’s been how many years, exactly, since we’ve last seen each other?” 

With her helmet gone, Jeanette cannot miss the weariness in her sister’s eyes. The faint lines around Artemis’ eyes and mouth, and on her forehead. She can’t remember the last time they saw one another, but it’s been decades, at least. She can barely line up the images in her head, anymore: tiny, energetic, fiery little Artemis, compared to this war weary veteran of a woman who sits before her now. Those thick red locks, well beyond regulations, are gone now; they sit and brush the tops of her shoulders, instead. Jeanette cannot begin to imagine the reason why her sister cut her hair. Doesn’t want to think about what nightmares plague her sister’s mind.

Something else they have in common, now. And she doesn’t know how she knows — maybe it’s the shadows lurking around her sister’s visage, matching her own.

“You were so small, last I remember.” Jeanette finally finds her voice, meeting Artemis’ gaze steadily. “And now you are.... Well, bigger than I am.”

Artemis’ smile is wry and sad. “Yeah, I never expected to reach average Spartan height. Maybe it’s my genes.” She gives an aborted little shrug of her shoulders, and huffs quietly. “I think it’s been about... Shit, twenty-five years.” Her expression falters slack for a moment, and her gauntleted fists curl into the drop seat. “Twenty-five years,” she says again, sounding far away, lost in her thoughts. “And I thought that I was the last of our kind, aside from Talia.”

_Talia_. The name is... familiar-yet-not. Another image sits on her periphery; as soon as she reaches for it, it disappears as though it had not existed in the first place.

She shakes her head.

Twenty-five years sits like a steel band against her chest. Heavy, rendering it hard for her to breathe. She can barely remember any of her sisters, barely remember _anything_ , from Before. But she knows that Artemis was close to her, that she would protect Artemis with her life. Remembers that Artemis _loved her_ , like they truly were flesh and blood.

She thinks that her sister won’t comment on the tears that sting her eyes.

Instead, she says, “Twenty-five years is a long time indeed.” Reaches out, pats Artemis on an armoured knee, and then withdraws again. 

The silence stretches, hangs between them.

Artemis breaks it, by pressing something cool and metallic into the palm of Jeanette’s hand, curling her fingers around it. “ _Je suis désolé. Il m'a dit de dire à tout le monde de faire en sorte que ça compte._ ” she explains, her voice barely above a whisper.

It takes Jeanette a moment to realize what it means, and when she does, the words weigh heavily upon her mind. She thinks they will haunt her for weeks to come.

_I'm sorry. He told me to tell everyone to make it count._

She almost does not want to look at what Artemis gave her, but she knows that her curiosity would get the better of her sooner or later. She opens out her hand, stares at the metal dogtags, and the letters stamped upon them blur in her vision. 

**JORGE**   
**S-052 A POS**   
**SPECWAR**   
**GroupTHREE / NOBLE**

She lifts her head, turns her gaze back to Artemis. “Does this mean...?” She knows, in her heart, _she knows_ , but she wants to hear it from her sister. The redhead was probably _there_ , after all; why else would she have them? She wants to know how he died.

She hands the dogtags back, closes her eyes for a few moments to steel herself for whatever it is her sister has to tell her.

“He gave his life to protect me.” Artemis murmurs, her gaze growing distant, as she stares at a point somewhere beyond Jeanette’s shoulder.

All she can think at first is _oh_ , but that is eventually followed by _that is so very like Jorge; I do not know why I expected anything else_. The old bear had always been a selfless man; always putting everyone’s needs ahead of his own. _Especially_ when it came to the needs of his _kis farkasok_ , his _little wolves_.

“We had a plan to destroy a Covenant Supercarrier.” A huge, menacing vessel. One so large and powerful that it made most of the UNSC’s ships look like toys in comparison. “We had a Slipspace drive, donated from a frigate’s willing crew. It was designed to be a bomb — after all, what’s more destructive than a Slipspace jump gone wrong?” The redhead smiles, then, faint and sad, and gives a little shake of her head. “But the timer was fried, and the damn thing had to be detonated manually. He knew the risks, and he threw me out the side of the Covie corvette we were using as a decoy, so that Reach’s gravity could claim me and I could get back to the fight on the ground. Our Pelican’s thruster gimbal was toast, and there was no way we could get back up to the Sabre fighters. And I can remember thinking, as I fell to solid ground... I remember thinking he was such a fool, but being so thankful that he brought me back to myself. That his kindness, and his open mind, set me back onto the path to being me.”

She looks at Jeanette, then, and her eyes are filled with melancholy.

“He gave his life thinking he saved Reach... And he gave me my _self_ back. I only wish I had the chance to thank him for that. But now he’s gone, and the only thing I can do is make him proud. It’s all any of us who are left can do.”

Artemis snaps at the chain, a quick, jerking motion, and hands one of the tags to Jeanette. “Keep it, sister. He would want you to have it.” That sad smile never leaves her, as she leans back, tucking the other tag into one of the pouches that rests upon her chestplate.

“ _Köszönöm, farkas nővére_.” Jeanette stows her tag away, and then slides to the floor to settle between Artemis’ knees, so that she can lean forward and wrap her arms around her sister’s middle. _Thankyou, wolf sister._ Nevermind the hard plating that separates her from her sister, both physically and metaphorically. Nevermind the fact that both of them are crying now, silent tears streaking down their cheeks.

All that matters now is, at long last, her beloved baby sister has come back to her.


End file.
